


Pickpocket

by sarken



Category: Fake News RPF
Genre: Banter, FNFF OT, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-31
Updated: 2008-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-04 11:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarken/pseuds/sarken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon is pick-pocketed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pickpocket

A stranger brushes against him in the subway and Jon spends the next two hours on the phone with AmEx, his mouth going dry after the twenty-third iteration of, "Yes, yes, I understand you need the number, but the card was _stolen_. No, you see, the funny thing is, I did write down the number. It was in my wallet."

Jon switches to speaker phone and pulls on his hair while the AmEx team member politely tells him that he's a moron. Yeah, Jon thinks, like I didn't hear that one from Chase Visa.

"You should have purchased protection," the team member says.

Jon barks a laugh. "'Protection?' You mean, what, like a, like a credit card condom? I'm not cheating on you with MasterCard; I was pickpocketed."

There's a thoughtful silence on the other end of the line, and Jon says, "Forget it," and disconnects the line. Tracey is better at this than he is, and he really needs a drink. He feels like he's been chewing on Shamsky's old tennis ball.

He wants a beer, but he resigns himself to a Coke, at least until he's standing in front of the Pepsi machine and remembering he doesn't have his wallet. He might have tricked the Pepsi machine into selling Coke by cleverly changing distributors, but he's pretty sure the machine won't accept MetroCards as legal tender.

Jon kicks the machine, not angrily, but like a child scuffing his shoe in the dirt. "Ah, fuck," he grumbles, and thinks about the water fountain down the hall, the one with the weak stream of lukewarm water. It's a long way from a Coke, and an even longer one from a beer -- not so much from a Pepsi, though.

He keeps his hands in his too-empty pockets as he strolls down the hall, hoping no one is trying to buy a Jag with his American Express. He'd worry about the Visa, too, if the kid on the support line hadn't recognized Jon's voice and canceled the card without verifying the account number. There are certain advantages to fame, Jon thinks, even if they don't include not having to take the A train during rush hour. The cars always smell like piss and MickeyD's.

Piss. That's exactly what the water fountain reminds him of, he realizes, and suddenly the foul taste in his dry mouth doesn't seem like the worst thing in the world. It's still right up there, though, so he makes a beeline for Stephen's office. In the face of the pissing water fountain, begging Stephen for pocket change doesn't seem so bad.

Jon props himself up against Stephen's doorjamb in a pose that, were he 5'9" and female, would be alluring. On him, it's plain ridiculous. "Buy me a drink, sailor?" he asks.

Stephen doesn't look up. "Sure, if you'll put out."

Jon shrugs. "Works for me. Just let me call AmEx -- they're having some sort of deal on condoms."

:end:


End file.
